Do You Cook? You Might Be a Scientist

“Do you cook?”

It was one of the first questions my former PI asked me— not in a casual lunchtime conversation, but on the day I started working in the lab. At first, I thought it was just a warm-up to a conversation or maybe a quirky habit of his. But soon, I realized he asked that question to everyone who joined the lab. Regardless of your background or academic level, he asked with calm curiosity: “Do you cook?”

And no, he wasn’t talking about culinary skills or your ability to follow recipes. He wasn’t interested in what you cooked or how often you did it. He was asking something much subtler: Do you enjoy being in the process of making something? Do you find a rhythm in the mess? Are you patient enough with trial and error? That simple question was a window into your mindset.

I didn't realize the weight of it right away. But the more time I spent in the lab, the more I saw how perfectly that one question reflected the core of what we do as scientists. Science, like cooking, is all about experimentation. It’s about the process, not just the outcome. In the kitchen, you begin with ingredients and an idea of what you want to create. Maybe you follow a recipe the first time. Perhaps you already know it by heart. But somewhere along the way, you start adjusting—less salt, a longer simmer, a touch of something new. You learn from taste and texture, from mistakes and successes.

In the lab, it’s just the same. We start with a protocol—our version of a recipe. We set up reactions, prepare buffers, run gels, and incubate cells, waiting patiently for results. Rarely does everything work perfectly on the first try. Often, you end up going back, tweaking one variable at a time. You note what worked, what didn’t, and what might be worth trying next. Sometimes it’s frustrating. Sometimes, even after doing everything “right,” the experiment fails. But if you enjoy the act of doing, you try again.

The analogy extended further than I expected. My reagents became ingredients. The lab bench started to feel like a prep station. The test tubes were no longer just glassware—they became little pots of potential. Centrifuges, incubators, and thermocyclers became part of my daily kitchen tools. My lab notebook began to resemble a cook’s journal—scribbled margins, minor adjustments, diagrams, notes on timing, temperature, volumes. Even research papers resemble published recipes—standardized methods shared for others to test, repeat, and build on.

What struck me most is that both cooking and science require a similar kind of patience. They demand observation and instinct. You must be present and focused while remaining open to change. You learn to recognize small details—a shift in color, a change in texture, a faint smell, or the timing of a reaction. And the people who thrive in both spaces are not always the ones who get it right the first time, but the ones who stay curious when things go wrong.

That’s what I eventually understood about the question. It wasn’t about food. It was about mindset. Are you comfortable in the middle of uncertainty? Can you make peace with repetition, with ambiguity, with slow progress? Do you find value in the improvements you make along the way? If you say yes, then chances are, you’ll find joy in science—not just in the data you generate, but in the very act of experimenting.

Looking back, I now realize how clever and subtle that question was. It was an invitation to reflect on the kind of thinker and doer you are. And now, when someone tells me they enjoy cooking—not just eating, but cooking, trying out new things, modifying recipes, adjusting flavors—I immediately think, “You’d probably enjoy working in a lab.”

Because science isn’t just for the sharpest minds or the most decorated degrees, it’s for those who like to play with variables, who can patiently work through failures, who aren’t discouraged by a messy table or an unexpected result. Science belongs to those who love the process, not just the publication.

So yes—do you cook?

Because if you do, not just for the end product, but for the joy of the process, then you might already speak the language of science without even realizing it.